"Thomas is one of those outstanding Southern writers – seemingly soft, languid, maybe even lazy, when actually what he is, is cotton wrapped about a razor. Half the time you don't even know he's gotten you until it's too late." – Charles L. Grant

A former newspaper reporter and TV news producer, Thomas is an award winning writer, essayist and playwright. He writes suspense that delves into the darker side of our nature while examining the more noble aspects of who we are.

The Latest

Unthinkable Choice is available now (ghosted)

My short story, "Mother and Child Reunion," has been picked up for a future broadcast of Tales to Terrify.

My short story, "The Heart is a Determined Hunter," was featured in The Horror Zine.

You can now hear my story, "The Heart is a Determined Hunter," free on Tales to Terrify. Click the image below to listen.

Tales to Terrify

SOMETHING STIRS

For more information about my supernatural suspense novel, Something Stirs, click on the cover to go to the Something Stirs site.

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Feeling Nostalgic

Love kept them together for over 60 years, and love led them to make the pilgrimage to heaven within 48 hours of each other. She went first and he followed. As I sat with the rest of my family in the chapel and looked at the twin caskets, I wasn’t grieving for my grandparents. Far from it. They had lived their entire lives in preparation for the moment they would meet Jesus face to face.

No, I wasn’t grieving. I was remembering.

I remembered knowing intellectually that they didn’t have much in the way of things, but I also remember my grandmama could take a little hamburger, a bottle of ketchup, a box of spaghetti, and some Ritz crackers, work her magic, and make as good an Italian meal as any restaurant ever turned out.

I remembered the time I had the measles and grandmama came to the house with a can of Donald Duck Orange Juice because she knew (1) I liked orange juice and (2) Donald Duck was my favorite cartoon character. Certainly I’ve had orange juice since then, but none has ever tasted as good.

I remembered how there was never a time in my whole life when I saw her that she didn’t call me her “sweet boy.” Even when her memory started to fade I was her sweet boy. And I’ve never really felt worthy of the title.

I remembered my granddaddy, tall and slow. Missing a few fingers. He could build and fix more things with seven fingers than I could with all ten. Broken toys were no match for a soldering iron and a little electrician’s tape.

He once built a butterbean sheller after seeing one at a produce farm. He added a few improvements of his own and it worked for twenty years. People came from all over the county to have their peas and beans shelled in his wonderful contraption.

I remembered the times he came over, put his arm around me, and just grinned. We never said anything in those moments. We didn’t have to. The last time I saw him, he struggled to stand up, put his arm around me, and just grinned.

I know what he meant.

My grandparents taught me some of the most important lessons of my life. For example:

The sound made by the whole family gathered in the living room on Christmas morning sounds a lot like music.

You don’t have to be pretty to be beautiful.

Every grandchild is beautiful.

It is easier to bear the occasional pain that comes from forgiving others than it is to bear the pain of not forgiving someone.

Nothing will ever love you like a puppy.

Money is OK for buying things, but it doesn’t have much practical value when it comes to being happy.